So sorry for the weekly delay. I had just finished "The Doctor's Damsel", a Jonathan Crane/Rachel Dawes story that I am proud of, and I am also in the middle of a Star Trek: DS9 fic called "The Perfumed Garden", but this story has my full attention at the same time. :)

This will include flashbacks introducing young Iris as well as when she later on met Jonathan Crane as her professor, and more events to come which I won't spoil. But when Iris was thirteen years old in Vytina's stories, she began to attend GSU and graduated at seventeen, earning her Doctrine, though. Ph.D. makes it raise even more questions as to how she damned managed. XD Anyway, in terms of her and Jonathan's age differences, she was sixteen when she first gave herself to him and he was barely forty. In here, they have a ten-year gap instead of twenty-two, or almost. And Vytina had an opulent image of the interior of DeLaine Manor that I took to heart and also advanced with real themes that blew me away - and will do the same to you. The exquisite detailing of the home Iris was born and grew up in is also vital along the way, be it secondary or not. The more detail, the more real it is.

Chapter One

The Bird and the Bloom

1997

Every part of DeLaine Manor was of exotic themes, the opulent Persian carpeting running from the main doorway to the entrance of every doorway on the level; you wouldn't be surprised if the same carpet continued on the next level and then the next, given you saw it continue up the grand staircase, the luxurious silk design spilling about under the rich mahogany furniture and complimenting the ivory-and-gold walls. Bared sections of the floor checkered individual designs reminiscent of the Middle East and India. The top level overlooking the foyer had balconies carved into Moroccan arches and pillars, as were every individual doorway on the level of the foyer. The staircase itself was every bit a piece of art in Moroccan themes like the rest of the estate - the three-story manor each had an elevator of glass and gold on each of its floors for the individual or more who did not feel like taking the overwhelming steps up and down. Today the foyer, grand ballroom, and living room were decorated with blacks and soft blues to mourn the passing of Master DeLaine from a long-term battle with the deadly disease that originated from Africa.

The mistress of the house was flocked by her late husband's fellow partners and businessmen, along with their wives and mistresses, and given condolences such as "I'm so sorry for your loss, Mrs. DeLaine" or "Will you be well?" Mostly she received praise for how fine she looked today, even better in person than in her latest magazine editions, as the guests said. The black chiffon dress she wore touched the floor and sheathed her classily elegant figure while the neckline plunged in a V-shape to show off her voluptuously curved chest that caught the attention of male fans and readers and colleagues alike and stirred the pot of envy in females that desired a bust like that. The sheer sleeves were loose on her arms and showed the outlines if raised to light, and the wrists and the front waist gather beaded cleverly to not give her attire too much bling. Ebony black hair that she normally let run wild was now curled tightly and framing her face and shining lustrously from her highly expensive shampoo imported from France. Her face which had never seemed to age bore the signs of the grieving widow with her vivid green irises allowing tears as perfect as pearls down her sculpted cheekbones, her bloody red painted lips in a tight line quivering as though trying not to cry. No one in the room suspected it being a half-truth but one.

Mrs. DeLaine wasn't the only lady whose attention everyone was focused on; it was her young child, four-year-old Iris. Iris was the only child - the only child between the recently widowed Maria and her late husband who left her to pursue other women in every country, even fathered another with the mistress who opened her mouth to the papers and the newscasters. Nevertheless, no one told Iris any of this, and certainly not her mother. Aside from her family's scandalous reputation, the girl was slim and lithe with long black hair always in a soft updo and sometimes loose in a black waterfall down her back. Her eyes were the most vivid of blues ever seen, and you couldn't tell if she wore lipstick or not; her skin was soft ivory like her mother, with a faint hint of blush. Just like her mother, she was dressed to perfection with every available fabric that the mother herself, the grandmother - and mother of the recently deceased father - as well as the seamstress herself, could grasp. Right now she was in a cute velvet black dress with puffy sleeves and a teal satin sash, her shoes polished black with stockings. Iris DeLaine was the center of attention besides her model mother - and unknown to all, Maria seethed with righteous jealousy.

Everyone seemed to view the DeLaine family as perfect once the late Marcus married Maria, but upon the revelation of his infidelities, the spotlight was on fire towards him and his wife, whose mental conditions were not for the public's eye to know so she could protect herself. And how it affected little Iris indefinitely. Beneath the rich, small dresses was an unhealthy pattern of scars and bruises, but there was no telling what the mother would do if she tried to tell anyone.

Not even a look into the little girl's eyes changed matters.

The funeral came and went, and the little girl was alone while her mother went to her dressing room to change. In the meantime, little Iris ran to her room and pulled out the painting she'd made with Grandma a couple of days ago. It was of a woman standing before a royal blue and ebony moonlight over the ocean, gazing out at the horizon with wonder at what lay over there for her. The water was lined with white waves, the moon vivid and the woman's white dress, while the sky was a marvelous blend of the previously mentioned blue and black, touched with silver. The woman's black hair hid her face and flapped off to the side in the imaginative breeze. The child made her way down the hallway which was her home to her mother's dressing room near the sitting area, where the woman was changing into her gown for the evening. The wall was covered with everything of Maria's modeling covers and shoots from inside the magazines, and this was her own personal space that Iris was not allowed to go to, but she was so excited that she didn't care right now. Her mother stood on the small circular lift, donning a marvelous purple silk dress with yet another floor-touching skirt, the neckline flaring over another V-shape to partially close. She was admiring herself that she didn't see the little girl come in, but as soon as she saw her in one of the many mirrors, she whirled around even at Iris' "Mother, look what I made for you -"

A sharp slap stung her face moments later. All of her enthusiasm was forgotten, the portrait out of her hands, and all she could hear was her mother's raging screams. "What is God's name is the matter with you, Iris? What did I tell you about coming in here?" Maria left her alone to pick up the portrait. "You think I care about your stupid little artworks? You think that just because your father is no longer here I would care about you, you stupid little beast?!" With that, she tore the picture in half, all of her and Grandma Sylvia's hard work together; if only the elder woman was here now so she could talk down her daughter-in-law like she always would.

"No, Grandma and I -"

Her mother's laughter was harsh and unpleasant. "Oh, you think Grandma will be here to save you right now?" Another slap sent the child crying to the Hindu-tiled floor. "You little bitch, get out of here before I do worse to you!"

~o~

9 years later…

Jonathan Crane felt a tad nervous, but it was short-lived. This was his first day teaching at Gotham State University, and here he was behind the desk that had once been his recently released professor's. He had been young and hopeful for a fresh start, eager to learn his lifelong favored subject which got him to where he was now, but these ones coming into his classroom had no idea what was truly out there. Nothing was given to them just like that, and sometimes hard work was not enough. Getting his position at the young age he was at rare out of the ordinary had been fraught with sacrifices and mild peril that had been risky nevertheless. But he was more than happy to leave this university and his beast of a professor who had deduced him to nothing more than a piece of trash just to get to where he was now. He had trusted the man long ago, but that was before the start of his freshman year. Now he was eager to move on, start fresh as he had been upon arrival here.

By then he noticed certain sport types he knew would not be expected to do well as he experienced their styles in his college days, as well as a few of the rarest that would actually pay attention in his class and get high grades. If not, then low ones to pay them back would keep him comfortable.

However, there was one that stood out against them all. A young girl of perhaps twelve or thirteen walked in, carrying books against her chest. Crane considered calling out to her and asking her if she came to the wrong class - or perhaps, the wrong school - but he might be wrong and assume she was one of his students. He suspected that she had a better mind like his own than any other. There was no way a child could have gone through what he'd done to get to this place. She was tall and thin like he was, her legs covered with slim black demins and a pair of black boots that reached the knees. A blue gingham shirt opened to reveal slim curves covered by a black tank tucked into her jeans. She had black hair like he did, long and thick, naturally curled at the tips, covering her ears, and her eyes - a vivid blue not unlike his own - were sharp…and sporting a sadness that no one else cared to notice.

Like himself, a long time ago.

"Hey, what's this kid doing in here? She ought to be in middle school!"

His class wasn't even full yet, and already he had one calling out - and targeting the girl his attention was on. The girl, however, ignored the speaker, a blonde girl with revealing cleavage and a tattoo heart over her right breast, lips painted bright red. He sneered at her, but she was too busy taunting the raven-haired girl who had gone to sit in the middle of the front row, probably close enough to her teacher who happened to be himself. He noted how she was good at keeping her face sharp and emotionless, reminding him of his younger self, even looking like the female version of himself.

"That's enough, thank you," he snapped to the blonde in the middle to the right behind. "I will alert you that I do not tolerate bullying of any form in my classroom. Do I make myself clear?"

The girl stuck her tongue out but otherwise nodded. Crane snorted at her before looking at the younger one who was eyeing him intently as she opened her notebook as well as the classroom text, prepared to learn as he was more than ready to teach.

By the time class started, he spotted how halfway it was compared to how he imagined; it was no different than when his old professor was here. Some things never changed - but in time they would. "Good morning. I'm Professor Jonathan Crane, your new teacher given Dr. Victor Warner has recently retired from his post. But don't think," he warned, "that because of my age, I will make this easy on any one of you, and psychology is never a subject to be taken lightly..."

The entire time he spoke, he kept looking back at the girl in the front whose eyes matched his. Sometimes she looked up at him from writing and reading, catching on to what he said as well, he imagined. There was a fire in her eyes that drew him to her, and she fascinated him. Already he saw she would be another one of his better ones; if there was a way to speak to her after his class ended...

The bell rang an hour and a half later, and the students were leaving. Crane walked back over to his desk to sit at his computer to work on his schedule and fill in on the students' progress so far, much of which he knew was lacking. And then he heard a crash, the sound of someone falling. Crane jerked his head up and saw that same girl on the ground, the same blonde he recognized as the same one who taunted her, and Jonathan had had enough. He stood up and strode their way. The blonde turned to run, but he grabbed her by the arm and bore his eyes down on her fiercely.

"I thought I made myself clear, Miss Rosenberg," he snapped. "It seems you wish me to enlighten you with an extension of a warning of the consequences." From the corner of his eye, he saw the black-haired girl rise and dust herself off, staring at him in amazement the whole time. "Or do you want an early expulsion for your bullying methods on a mere child?" He hadn't meant it that way, but the girl looked like she hated being called a child. She wasn't, by any means, but she was the youngest of all his students. A part of him wondered why she chose his class of all of them, not that it made a difference, really.

He released Mina Rosenberg and narrowed his eyes. "One more try and I'll have you out. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," she said coolly before casting another sneer at the young girl before turning to leave. Now he was alone with this interesting little gem who looked at him courageously and curiously.

"I'd ask if you were okay, but we both agree that would be foolish," he told her. He couldn't help but feel that he'd seen her somewhere before...

She gave a humorless laugh as she straightened herself up. "I wouldn't say that, Professor. Yes, I'm fine. I've handled this before."

Jonathan clenched his jaw at the thought of her enduring what he would most definitely classify as his own childhood trauma. He saw it all clearly now even if he didn't know that much about her - much less her name. "I don't believe I caught your name, my dear."

"DeLaine. Iris DeLaine."

Awe struck him. Of course, the daughter of the world-famous model Maria DeLaine, widow of prominent businessman Marcus DeLaine. The resemblance was uncanny. Of course, her facial features were natural compared to her mother's image he'd viewed on the magazine covers that he never wished to buy. Such beauty - the results of plastic surgery - was a waste of time and money and imagery. Of course, striking perfection was the shield from the coldness that lurked behind. Maria passing off as a dazzling younger woman was the ideal sickening façade that he was against. But her daughter was an intriguing subject.

"A pleasure, Miss DeLaine," he answered politely, walking her out of the classroom. "May I ask if you selected a course for your future yet? I never would have thought a young face like yourself would be able to decide so soon, faster than the average human being."

"Because I'm not like everyone else, and the answer is psychology," she replied without a beat. "I've always been interested in unlocking the secrets of a person's mind and motivations - to see why they do the wrongs that they do to themselves and other people."

"Like these mindless fools who shove you around for thrills?" Crane pressed. Her steps faltered but didn't stop. "Believe me, that's why I became a professor. To fill in these young minds, but I know very well that many won't accept my advice. I suppose they believe I'm too young," he added with a humorless laugh like she'd given him. She looked up at him with a curious frown.

"Age is just a number. Forgive me, Professor, but how old are you exactly?"

He should have been offended but the question, but he wasn't. "Twenty-three," he responded. "Last June, I graduated from here with my Ph.D. As far as I know, I'm the youngest professor ever to graduate from there," he answered proudly.

"Impressive." Jonathan admitted that he was impressed with her use of language. Iris spoke like a true professional, unusual but perfect for a thirteen-year-old. "You must be good at what you do. I know I am."

Jonathan chuckled at her being so sure of herself - she meant every word, and he admired her for it. "Yes, I was good. But I also had help from my professor..." He trailed off as unpleasant memories swam before his eyes, and he brushed them off. "But I won't ever see him again. I had some bad experiences in spite of it all. Not that I hadn't before."

Iris stopped where she was and looked up at him in amazement. "You were bullied, too? Looks like we have more in common." She giggled to lighten the mood.

"I was, but we shouldn't give away too many unpleasant details on the first day." Warmth arose in him, and it irritated him. Where in the name of all that was mental did that come from? She was only a girl of thirteen if not a mere child any longer - he could get arrested for these feelings, much less act upon them. But she was so lovely, lovelier than her mother...

"I should bid you a good day, Miss DeLaine. And I look forward to seeing you tomorrow." He let the doors shut behind them and nodded.

"To you, too." He watched her go, watched as her long hair swished softly. He furrowed his brow as he recalled their conversation. Based on his own experiences and all he knew so far about Iris DeLaine, he was sure there was home trouble with her mother, that beautiful Maria witch that every insipid female would die to be like. He felt like he had to protect the girl. To shield her from further cruelty of the world, to keep her safe from anyone who dared to hurt her.

~o~

Was he dead?

He opened his eyes, but his vision was black as night. He tried opening his mouth only to find that it was already open and his lips were painfully stretched by the leather strap gagging him. Turned out that his eyes were blindfolded, as well, so he couldn't see his surroundings. He also felt, rather than saw, that his body had been stripped nude and trapped in a chair. Cold air wisped at his bare torso and back, and he longed to be covered to warm himself up and hide his modesty. Whatever sick bastard did this was going to pay for this - but his arms and legs were trapped. His wrists were held down to the armrests on either side of him by more leather straps, the same for his ankles on the chair legs. Based on the amount of pressure his bindings applied to holding him down so he wouldn't run, even the slightest or heaviest squirming or jerking would draw blood.

Where the hell was he, and why was he here?

And who did this to him?

Then he heard a voice. A voice he remembered all too well. A voice he'd longed to forget.

"There will be no need for struggling, my boy. The slightest movement will let you bleed yourself on this floor."

He tried to demand what this beast wanted with him, but his shouts came out as muffled, and the man laughed. "I've imagined you were wondering when we would meet again, Jonathan. Today is that day. I've been watching you ever since you half destroyed my mind and cost me my power and position, and escaped my clutches. We were having the time of our lives, and you left me hurt deeply. I helped you achieve your dreams, and look what happened: You threw it all away for a life of crime. Despite all the advantages you were given, you chose the life of a scumbag. Well, now's the time to give you a lesson. Resume our positions as student and teacher once more."

He screamed through his gag as he felt something long and thick push into him against his will from behind the backless chair...

~o~

Today

It was sweating and gasping that roused Jonathan Crane abruptly from his nightmare. Only it didn't seem like a dream - it seemed so real. These nightmares and memories had been getting worse each night every time he slept. He would always awake choking back his screams and sweating more than he would under a desert sun. And his noises always awoke his cellmate across from him.

"Jon? Hey, Jon, are you all right?"

Jonathan sat up in his bed and drew his legs up to his knees to hide his moist face from his cellmate, fellow Rogue, and best friend since college. Edward Nygma was always watching him and never letting him out of his sight, making sure nothing happened to him like he used to in their school years - sometimes it irritated him, other times he was grateful because Eddie was the only real friend he'd ever had in his life besides Iris, who right now was at home asleep in her bed at whatever time it was now. Really, he wanted to talk to her now. She would be frustrated at this ungodly hour of the night, but all Jonathan wanted was to hear her voice. Eddie seemed to read his mind. "You had another nightmare."

"And I want to talk to Iris," Jonathan answered. "Can you break us out again?"

Eddie sighed and slipped out of his bed that resided against the opposite wall from Jonathan's. "You know you're not exactly getting any better with all these dreams. You should ask Iris about a dream suppressant, never mind that you'll go from no dreaming." He reached under his pillow for the lock pick he kept in case of "emergency". "But the main woman comes first," he said with a triumphant grin.

~o~

Someday she would have to kill herself, or worse, whoever was dialing her at this ungodly hour of the night. The ringtone that was part of the song she shared with passionate interest with the man who had been her professor and mentor in college, and her boss and colleague not too long ago, did not help matters either.

Anol shalom (Almighty freedom)

Anol sheh lay konnud de ne um (Almighty freer of the soul)

Flavum (Be free)

Nom de leesh (Walk with me)

Ham de nam um das... (Through the golden fields…)

La um de (So lovely)

Flavne… (Lovely)

Iris groaned and reached up to switch on the teal-shaded crystal chandelier lamp on her nightstand before grabbing her mobile and seeing who the caller was. She frowned; why was the hospital calling her at one in the morning? And then it hit her: Jonathan must have had another nightmare. She pressed the talk button and tried not to sound too sleepy. "Jonathan, it's one in the morning."

"I'm sorry, Iris," he responded. "I just needed to hear your voice."

His weary voice and seeping childlike vulnerability always got to her. Ever since his exposure to his own fear gas, Jonathan was ridden disastrously with more nightmares and psychological stress than his childhood life had inflicted on him - or in her professional opinion, just as bad. It wasn't his fault; she would never blame him like everyone else did. Iris had been taking care of the asylum and his legacy for him ever since then, and she hated the Batman, that night rat, for what he'd done to Jonathan. Most of all, she hated him for this and that. Everyone looked up to him as their savior. He used his fists to settle a dispute, never once stopping to delve deeper into the problem.

"That's what's important in the eyes of the civility of this world," Ra's al Ghul had told her once. "It separates us from them. In their eyes, it's simply black and white. In truth, beneath the surface, it's gray, but no one sees fit to see that area of the truth." Not that she never knew that from experience.

"Did you have another nightmare?" Iris asked gently, sitting up in the bed, keeping the silk covers drawn to her chest to hide the many areas of skin exposed.

"Yes. They're getting worse. And more vivid. I feel like I can't escape them no matter what. I feel if this continues, then perhaps I am insane. I've been in this place for two years; two years and nothing changed. I doubt I'm meant to leave this hellhole."

Then she heard Edward's voice, obviously. "Yea, Iris, I know that's right. We were all people who loved everything we did, but no one understood us, unlike you and Joan."

"Eddie, I don't know why I ever agreed to let you two be the exception to sneak out of your cells at this hour of the night to phone me. If anyone ever found out, I'll be sued for this," Iris joked, tucking her hair behind her ears. "And it's a good thing I let you two share the same cell as I did with Red and Harley for their…late nights that Joker doesn't know about." She paused to grin at their groans at the images produced, then yawned. "Listen, go back to your cells, and I'll see you two tomorrow."

Jonathan's voice came back on the line. "I will. Good night, my little flower goddess," he purred into the speaker, and she giggled. She loved it when he called her the pet name he used for her back at Gotham State and when he still ran Arkham, stating that she'd been named for the Greek goddess of the rainbow. Iris put the phone back down and turned off the lamp to continue her sleep, and when she did, she dreamt back to a day when she got everything she ever wanted, and on that day it had been a good thing she did, for it brought her further down the path that one man who ever worshipped her had helped her set her foot on.

Even if it meant spilling the blood of her most notorious adversary.

~o~

6 years ago…

Five years ago she was the youngest high school student at the tender age of twelve to come to Gotham State University with the desire to study psychology and perhaps become a doctor - and now she had.

And now she was at the reception party after giving her valedictorian speech which had gone rather smoothly, wearing a spaghetti-strapped black dress with a pleated skirt, the bodice overlaid with black lace, and teal satin under the bust. Her hair was in its natural wave and flowing down lightly over her shoulders, her spiraling diamond chandelier earrings glittering star-bright in her ears, her silver ivy-and-leaf armband also spiraling softly on her left forearm, and her cherished opal teardrop pendant on its black chord resting gently against her heart. Never in her life would she wear any other necklace but this. It had been given by someone very near and dear to her…who was no longer here. Had not been here in a long, terrible year.

Seventeen years old and she had accepted who she was. All her life she tried to be someone else, disregarding her inner spirit altogether, but another man - not just the one who gave her this necklace - had helped her embrace it. She felt stronger than she was then, and now she was ready to change things.

She had been born into a wealthy family that had begun from scratch and worked its way to the top, but that wasn't a destiny of her own to make despite it being laid for her. Her sister could take that torch for her while she could pursue her own path, but one certain evil-spirited individual was the only thing in their way. She was one step ahead and always smiling at their pain, still seeking the destruction of not only Iris but of Alice because of who her mother was. Iris had not been the least bit surprised years before when she learned of her late father's unfaithfulness, but his reasons were justified because of what kind of a woman Maria was. Their family hadn't been destroyed by the scandal leaked out by Sophia, but she could only imagine what Alice must have gone through while she worked as a mere secretary for one of the kindest men Iris had ever met - and she could see had soft eyes on Alice who already had a boyfriend, who was actually what Iris loved to call a lizard because he scaled his way into anything he wanted and just thought he could smooth talk only to lash out his tongue to catch the fly.

Iris was ready to move on. She got her Ph.D., and she was ready to have a home of her own, to begin her job offered at Arkham Asylum, but there were a couple of things to handle.

"Oh, Iris, I'm so proud of you!" Alice pranced over and swept the smaller girl up in her arms for a spin-around hug. "And you're so beautiful! I can't believe the day finally came and is over with!"

Iris grunted at the pressure of her former roommate and half-sister by her father but laughed anyway. "Alice, I swear you get more excited about the tiniest things than any person I know."

The older girl in a shorter, sexier, body-hugging dress of light blue with a V-neck-like bandage front over the cleavage shook her head, her wide smile still in place. "And I have a right to be. My little sister is better than I ever will be, stronger she was when I couldn't be from my mother." Sophia Pleasance was a domineering, gold-digging woman who always pushed her only daughter to the top, but Alice had so far managed to survive. Safe to say, though, Alice had more self-esteem issues than Iris did. The raven-haired girl scoffed and shook her head.

"Nonsense," Iris said, returning the hug much more gently. "You're as powerful as I am on the inside, but it takes more willpower to stand up to it. I'm always right, remember? No one tells me otherwise."

"Except for myself."

She felt like she had frozen to subzero at the sound of the familiar voice she had not seen or spoken to in four years, and just like that, it was back. She started from the bottom and worked her way up when she took in the long navy blue skirt covering long legs, glimmering satin and dark as midnight, hugging sculpted curves, and the bodice and long sleeves were both sheer sparkles of silver but still hiding erogenous parts left to the poor imagination of the one who loathed her most in the universe. Ebony curls measured to be about three feet long spiraled over both shoulders but tucked behind ears to reveal lustrous pearl and diamond earrings, the rest flowing down to the middle of the arched back. A heart-shaped face no different than Iris' possessed high cheekbones as well as vibrant emerald eyes outlined with black mascara and navy powder, and the lips painted a red so vivid it looked like blood. Nothing about Maria DeLaine had changed in the last four years; Iris had heard that her mother had still done well, but not once bothered to call her or ask her for anything.

"I never thought I would see the two of you together," Maria said as she begrudgingly held the sight of them together, one her daughter and the other the illegitimate "parasite" as she called Alice. "Is your mother here, by any chance? If I so much as see her as I see you..."

"She isn't here, Mother," Iris said coldly, "so your fears aren't at fruition." A long time ago when she told Professor Crane that she hoped her mother at least had a small amount of humanity left that they would reconcile one day, but he had proved her wrong. He'd explicitly said that people like Maria DeLaine were beyond redemption. He had been right because now her mother stood before her and looked at her the same way she always had.

"Certainly," Maria responded icily, her expression unchanged. "In that case, I look forward to tonight when you come home. It's been a long...time after all." She said no more, just turned and walked away with her hidden heels clicking behind her.

It was then that Iris finally noticed, after her mother left, a familiar face hiding off in the shadows and away from the view of the collaborating guests.

"Ra's," she said once she snuck away from the guests. "I wasn't expecting to see you here so soon."

"I had to buy some time and see the next step of one of my great pupils' life," her mentor in the art of the ninja replied with a tight smile. "You look beautiful. Pity your mother regards herself with false beauty." He then frowned. "I'm curious as to why you haven't offed her yet as you promised."

"I was waiting for the right time," Iris answered, folding her arms across her chest. "And tonight is the time."

He smiled down at her. "Miss DeLaine, when I first met you, you were without your teacher who took you into his arms and nursed you back to health after those thieving fools deprived you of your dignity just as you reclaimed it. But your dear professor helped you, but then he was sent away from you. And I helped make you stronger physically. Now's your time to finish what you started. Use your anger and hatred to take what your mother deprived you of."

Months ago when Iris first met Ra's al Ghul, she had no idea how he knew about her, but she imagined he was the one to help her in her journey. And he shaped her into a stronger image than she was then. He and Professor Crane were the reasons she created herself a symbol of the darkness and the power that burned greater than before.

"Feel free to come by my home tonight. Mother demands I be home for the night, and you know I am the only heir to DeLaine Towers, but I shall pass it on to dear Alice. I have a greater path ahead of me, and I refuse to back down. You taught me everything, so come home with me and witness my moment of triumph."

When she spoke those dark words, they burned on her tongue better than mellowed whiskey.

~o~

Hours later...

Cops were now swarming DeLaine Manor. Pictures were taken, evidence gathered - signs of "forced break-in" confirmed via window locks busted - but no missing items, it turned out. Iris now sat at the bottom of the grand stairs, wrapped up in a blanket provided to her by Sergeant Jim Gordon, who kindly asked her the questions regarding the "break-in" and the brutal mutilation of the woman who'd called herself a mother, known to the world as the great beauty who'd ever existed.

Now she was nothing more than a bloodied mess of what she was, lying in a sprawled mess on the fine Indian floor.

"I don't know who would do this," Iris choked, putting on her best act. "Or why they would do this. It was my graduation day, and she dismissed the servants so it would be just me and her tonight, and we both thought it was safe. But…"

Gordon cut her off with a gentle shush and a dab of tissue at her eyes in a fatherly manner. He gave her a small smile. "This was not your fault. It's this city - it's falling apart. Maria was a good woman; she was a gem of the earth."

If only he knew, Iris thought as she took one last look at the corpse of her mother - her best handiwork, in fact. All her own doing. She'd cleaned herself up before the police had arrived, washed her new costume and put it away herself, and hid away all the evidence that would point in her direction. While Maria had been flawless in life, now she sported several oozing wounds, her perfect face splattered with blackening blood and lying in an equal pool of it…and a gigantic wound punctured to her heart and stomach - all the work of a scythe. Now a young paramedic threw a clean white sheet sure to get filthy with the red oozes over the body, never to be seen again. Iris inwardly smirked. Mission accomplished.

I kept a lot of what Vytina had of the main DeLaine Manor, including the glass elevator; as common sense speaking, it's very generous despite the fact the master and mistress of the house were far from it. Middle Eastern and Moroccan themes are present throughout the rest of the house over the course as we dig deeper. The original DeLaine Manor was also six stories high, but I cut it to three for the sake of it.

A lot of Iris' backstory was based on "Descent into Darkness", including her mother pushing her over the edge in which she finally killed her in the end - including the issue with the portrait little Iris made which I slightly altered and included her grandmother in this; Sylvia is active more than she was known in previous stories. We never really see Iris become the Empress in costume other than seeing her "split self" in a mirror not long after murdering Maria, but Vytina's profile "The Tale of the Empress" on Deviantart is accurate enough and promising. :) It makes sense, as well, that Ra's al Ghul discovered her somehow and eventually learned of her former professor that his interest is piqued.

The song on Iris' ringtone is "Now We Are Free" by Lisa Gerrard, the theme song from the 2000 movie Gladiator. There are other versions of this magical song by other performers like Celtic Thunder, Kelly Sweet, Lisa Kelly, Lisa Cannon, Enya, and Triniti, as well as Gregorian.

Maria DeLaine, who will appear only in flashbacks, is portrayed by actress Rachel Weisz, known in the Mummy series with Brendan Fraser, as well as her astonishing portrayal as Evanora in "Oz the Great and Terrible"; "The Lovely Bones" is also among, "Definitely, Maybe" and so many others.

Read and review. :)